District 4
by nerdsman92
Summary: What will happen when Laurel, a kind 14 year old from District 4, is reaped with her older brother, who holds a grudge against the capital?
1. The Reaping

The Hunger Games universe belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me.

**District Four-The Reaping**

Today is a solemn day. A day of reflection. A time to think about your life, and what it's meant up until now. A day when you are extra nice to your family and friends, because you're not sure if you'll see them tomorrow. Today is reaping day.

District Four pretends to celebrate Reaping Day, but it's hard to celebrate when you know two faces from the crowd will disappear for eternity. But we are not distraught. We do not give up. We train, we fight, and we conquer. Victor's Village is not squalid and empty like the other districts. One of the most famous victors, Finnick Odair, lives there.

I've seen him around the docks. He sits with another victor, Annie. Annie is a house of glass, and the world is inside with a bucket of stones. Anything and everything can remind her of the games. When something sets her off, she is dragged down into a hole of nightmares.

My teacher tells us that Annie is a role model. She won the games, and Victors are idols. Even if you come back crazy, you still came back, and still brought District Four glory. Annie is almost considered a martyr. Her determination and loyalty to her district cost her sanity. That is something any great tribute would be willing to risk.

I'm not scared of the games. At least, that is what I tell myself. It is an honor to be chosen, to fulfill a great duty. All year, kids twelve to eighteen can be seen swimming, running, and building muscle to be prepared as much as possible when the inevitable reaping day rolls around. Some kids hope to be chosen. Most just don't want return to District Four skewered. Sometimes tributes come back, richer and more well off than ever. If they die, they die in service to District Four.

I don't want to think about dying. What if I got chosen? What if I was killed? I have a family that needs me. Rather, I need them, although I'm sure they would miss me if I didn't come home. My mother, gorgeous with her chestnut hair and sea-green eyes, would need my help with the bread-making. My handsome father wouldn't be there to ruffle my hair and call me 'kiddo'. And who would my older brother tease? I couldn't imagine not seeing Rowan again. I couldn't imagine what it would be like for him to see his little sister on the screens in the square. He would be proud of me; I am sure, but also worried. Terrified, even.

The year I turned 12, my brother's girlfriend, a fifteen year-old named Kate, was chosen to be a tribute. The terror I felt for her was absolute, encompassing. They told us she would come back; they told us she was strong. I knew she wasn't. She trembled so baldy when they called her name I was surprised she had the strength to straggle onto the stage. As she climbed the rickety wooden stairs, Rowan's face shone whiter than the Peace Keeper uniforms that surrounded us.

The air was suffocating after the capitol left with our unauthenticated cheer, bright festive banners, and two scared faces we would never see again. Rowan locked himself in his room after the reaping. When he emerged that night his eyes were dull and red. No one spoke.

I couldn't take the charged silence; the undeterred screeches of forks and knives scraping against almost empty plates. The thankful eyes of my mother and father; their children would last another year. Kate wouldn't.

Then there was the mandatory viewing of the Reapings. Children were separated from their families, from well off District 1, vicious District 2, all the way to poor and starving District 12. Three small and shivering twelve year olds were chosen that year.

When everyone finally fell asleep that night, I snuck out the back door and ran away as fast as my feet would carry me, as if I could outrun the games and the terror and the misery that was about to ensue. The only thing I managed to outrun was the crabs that scuttled across the sand. I fell to the ground, sobbing in a heap, and sat there for what seemed to be hours, staring out at the waves, wondering if there was a better place across the sea. Or at least someone who could get us out of this mess.

When I saw Rowan's tall silhouette approaching, I thought he was coming to comfort me. Instead, he was so furious he shook. His face was almost a darker red than his auburn hair, and his fists were clenched so tight I could tell his knuckles were white even in the moonlight.

"What do you think you're doing?" He managed to hiss. "You know it's forbidden to be out past curfew." He stole a look over his shoulder for the Peace Keeper uniforms, but there was only glittering sand.

He was right. If the Peace Keepers found us, we'd be whipped. In my dazed fury, I couldn't listen to reason. All I knew is I couldn't be back in that suffocating house. So I just said, "I'm sorry they took Kate." I could feel the tears burning my eyes. I tried to hold them back for Rowan, but they slipped away and trickled down my cheeks.

Suddenly, the anger melted out of him. He crouched down and wrapped his arms around me.

"Everything is going to be okay, Laurel," he said in his bravest voice.

"How do you know?" I asked him. And because I felt extra daring that night, I continued, "And even if Kate wins, will everything be okay next year? The year after that? You have two more reapings, Rowan." I didn't want to add that I had just begun. The fear of being picked paralyzed me.

"I know because I know Kate. She's smart. She knows what she's doing. She'll…"His voiced cracked a little as he tried to control his slipping composure, "She'll make it."

"And next year?" I whispered.

"Don't worry about next year. This is now." Just like a big brother should, he knew that didn't make me feel any better. "Don't worry Laurel, the Capital couldn't separate us if they tried."

Later, we watched Kate get stabbed to death by a scared tribute from District 9. Rowan has never forgotten.

The house this morning is cold and still. Mom, Dad, and Rowan are still asleep. It is only Kate's ghost and I—or rather the memories that have haunted me for the past two years. I grab my worn down pencil and tattered notepad, then sit down on a rickety stool in front of our back window. I like to draw here because the view is full of the ocean's frothy tide, going on forever and ever, encompassing everything until it comes back to the other side of Panem. Now I know no one else is out there; no one who will help us.

Usually I sketched the Ocean's careless play, but on Reaping Days all that comes to me is Kate's soft face. Somewhere in the last two years the little details have become lost, but I still remember the smile cemented to her face when she was with Rowan. I'm not sure if her lasting effect on me is because she was Rowan's girlfriend, and was around me quite a bit, or if she's the closest person I've lost to the Games. Either way, I find the grey graphite outlining her wild blond hair and her sharp face. I'd always wanted to look like her.

I'm lost in the drawing for who knows how long. Slowly the mess of lines begins to look like her. They become more and more realistic as time goes on, until I'm almost convinced I'm staring her in the face. Suddenly the cold house is too much.

"Drawing again?" I jump so violently I almost knock over the stool.

"Rowan!" I exclaim, as I hasten to flip the picture over before he can see. By the hurt look on his face, I know it's too late. The picture hangs between us like a raincloud. We stand in utter silence.

"You'd better get ready for the Reaping. You know how frazzled Mom and Dad will be today," he mutters. I nod and start to leave. "Laurel, can I have the picture?" He asks with downcasts eyes.

"Sure, Rowan." I gingerly hand it to him, as if it might break. "Good luck today. It's your last Reaping!" He just smiles at me before he becomes lost in thought. I give him a quick hug, and then leave him alone with Kate.

The rest of the morning goes by in a haze. I remember putting on my only dress, which is light blue and falls just above my knees. Mom always told me it brought out my cerulean eyes. I left my long, brown hair alone. It falls in gentle, familiar sheets halfway down my back. I am wearing my mom's lucky locket, the one her mom gave her when she had to be in Reapings. It's worked the last two years, and hopefully its luck will not fail me this year.

Rowan is wearing his nicest shirt, accompanied with Dad's old tie. Even though he is two years older than me, we almost look like twins. Well, except the fact he is half a foot taller than me.

Then we are herded to the town square for the Reaping. It is filled to the brim with potential tributes. Surely I will not be chosen with odds like this. I notice I am absent-mindedly fingering the silver locket. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. _I will not be chosen. I will not be chosen. I will not be chosen._ For good measure I add, _Rowan will not be chosen. Rowan will not be chosen. Rowan will not be chosen._ Then I feel a tiny bit better.

All the fourteen year old girls are packed so tightly we are shoulder to shoulder. I can feel our collective shaking, smell the cold sweat that has begun to break. I suddenly have the desire to draw us like this, the perfect picture of fear. I should remember to bring my pencil on Reaping Days. It would give me something to do besides strangle the life out of my good luck charm.

Quiet ripples break through the crowd as a tall, well-built man takes the stage. His short hair is redder than the roses that grow in my front yard, and his skin is a deep shade of ebony. He has a cocky smile with teeth whiter than lightning. He is Titan Spencer, District 4's escort.

Finnick Odair takes a seat behind Titan, and then old Mags ambles onto stage and lowered herself next to Finnick. These are District 4's mentors, the people who will be helping two young tributes in the arena. Annie would have been a mentor, but in her state of mind she'd go completely crazy. Lines of cruel, white-suited Peace Keepers line the stage, ready to take anyone who bolts or fights back. They won't be needed. We have too much dignity and too much sense to let that happen.

I'm sure by now I've begun to wear away the seagull engraved on the front of the locket.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Reaping of the 66th Hunger Games!" Titan says this like we should be ecstatic. The crowd sounds enthusiastic enough. But I know that many of us clap just to put on a good show for the Capital. We are not as bloodthirsty as them.

He quickly launches into the history of Panem; how we used to be a peaceful state, until the districts rebelled. When the Capital restored peace, they instated the Hunger Games to remind us all of that bloody rebellion. I used to think about what Titan was saying when I was little. I cursed the rebels for being so drastic and praised the Capital for stopping the war. I didn't realize then that the killings were still going on. They only had a different name.

Now I just watch Titan's enthusiastic facial expressions. He over pronounces every word in the silly Capital accent, moving his fat lips like a fish. His eyebrows manage to reach heights unachieved by any other human I've ever seen. But then again, he is from the Capital.

Eventually I get bored even from this. I begin to pick out my family's faces from the crowd. Mom and Dad are in the very front of the spectator's area, holding each other anxiously. My poor mother almost dies every year when the reaping rolls around. Only after the ceremony does she un-hunch her shoulders and unfold her tightly wound arms.

Rowan is standing with the eighteen year olds. His face is silent and stony. He does not even let boredom flit across it. I can barely make out the piece of tattered notebook paper sticking out of his shirt pocket.

The girls around me, my friends and classmates, barely acknowledge each other. We are too frightened for each other's safety. But mainly we just worry about our own safety. I doubt there will be any volunteers this year. Even though we train for the Games all year long, no one wants to chance getting speared in the gut.

I have started rubbing the necklace again when Titan finally winds the speech down. He just smiles broadly and holds his hands out like he wants applaud. He is rewarded with a weak smattering.

"And now it's time," he shouts, "It's the moment you've all been waiting for." I'm surprised he has enough energy for theatrics after the facial acrobatics he did during his speech. "It is time we select this year's tributes!"

He strides to the two glass bowls filled to the brim with paper slips. One is full of girls' names, and the other boys'. What are the chances he'll draw my name? Rowan's? It must be a thousand in one. Rather, I hope it is a thousand and one.

Before he plunges his hand into the girls bowl, he says, "Good luck District 4, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

He makes a show of grabbing a slip, as if there weren't hundreds in there already. He finally chooses the lucky one. In slow motion, he opens the slip and says, "For the ladies… Laurel Reeds!"

Laurel Reeds. _Laurel Reeds. _Laurel. That's me. I must have misheard them. They must have said somebody else's name, because how could I possibly become a tribute in the Hunger Games? I almost don't hear him call for volunteers, which doesn't matter because of course the world is silent anyway. Then the applause breaks out and I am practically pushed to the stage. It's a feat that I make it more than a few strides because my feet are paralyzed.

And suddenly I'm on the stage next to Titan and I don't know how I got there. Titan is shaking my hand; mine is so cold and clammy his almost burns me. Then I'm looking out into the crowd, looking at my friends and neighbors for what could be the last time. They are wearing the same plastic happiness they wear for every reaping.

I wish I could draw this moment, to remember how betrayed I feel. They don't even seem to care about me.

I pick out Rowan. His face is blood red. His classmates are struggling to hold him back in the crowd, to avoid Peace Keeper notice. Suddenly I flash back to that night on the beach when he was quaking with anger. I remember his exact words, "Don't worry Laurel, the Capital couldn't separate us if they tried."

_Well Rowan, you were wrong. _

But maybe he wasn't so wrong after all, because the next slip Titan reads is "Rowan Reeds."


	2. The Train

District 4- The Train

The train is cold. Rain whizzes past the windows at a million miles an hour, and I am surprised that the rain can stick to something going so fast; but the droplets are there, streaking across the foggy glass like tears. They almost match the ones trailing down my cheeks. Mine are warmer and more painful. Raindrops dry when the sun starts to shine; my troubles will not go away so easily.

My mind is still reeling from what happened at the reaping. The only thing I've been capable of doing since we boarded the train is stare out the window. But all the scenery is a blur, so I just watch the rain drops gather in pools and the slide away forever. I wouldn't even be able to draw right now.

I wish Rowan were here to tell me everything is going to be okay. He's in his compartment right now, locking himself away from the world like he did after Kate's reaping. Part of me is glad, because as much as I want to see him, I know I still can't face him. After they escorted us off the stage, the smolder went out of him and all that was left on his face was white. He pretended everything was fine during the goodbyes, like we hadn't just been chosen for a death match and only one of us could return.

"Don't worry Mom, everything will be okay," Rowan had said. My mother clung to him like a barnacle sticks to a boat. Her face was buried into his shoulder, trying to hide her tear-streaked face, but her body was racked with sobs. For the first time I noticed streaks of gray in her chestnut hair. They were all for Rowan and I.

Well, she wouldn't have to worry for much longer. The Games would be over, no matter who did—or didn't—return.

Dad gave me a hug so tight I thought I'd have to go into the arena with a broken rib. But with or without a broken rib, this could be the last time I'd be able to hug my father, so I did nothing except hug back tightly.

He finally broke away and looked at me sternly. He motioned for me to take a seat on the cement bench hiding behind us, and pried my mother away from Rowan so we could talk face to face.

Hardly anyone was left in the train station to hear our words. The few visitors who came to say goodbye had already left. It seemed District 4 thought it would be easier to view their honored tributes from the screens in the town square than face to face. The camera crews weren't allowed into the goodbyes, thankfully, so only a quiet set of peacekeepers intruded on my family's last moments together.

"Laur, I know you can do this. You've trained all year. You are smart and compassionate, and you have an eye for things no one else would ever notice," my father said, "But you need to remember to be brash. Other tributes will not be compassionate. They will kill without a second thought." My father stood tall and proud, just like Rowan. In his eyes was the same kind of pleading as Rowan when he begged for me not to tattle or give him my desert. But of course, this was more serious. The stare bored into me, making me step away and gasp.

I would have to become a killer.

I knew killing was part of the games. I wasn't stupid. It's just, killing someone was so far from my identity I didn't think I was humanly capable of it. The killings wouldn't be evil villains, like in my childhood games, but children. Kids younger and older than me, with families just like mine. Who am I to take that away a life from anyone? Especially children. Because when it comes down to the last final seconds, every tribute is just a small, shivering child.

Dad looked away from me and moved on to Rowan. The front of his shirt was soaked with tears. Mom stood behind him, colorless with her hand covering her mouth, muffling a sob.

"Rowan, you're the oldest. That means you have to protect your sister. Don't let anything happen to her. I don't care what Mags and Finnick say, protect her like your life depends on it."

"I know, Dad. You think I would let anyone hurt her?" Rowan said, a little too harshly. He folded his arms into his chest and stared at the ground.

"Just make sure she's okay," Dad said with a tone of finality. The Peacekeepers marched toward us, ready to take us to the train.

His answer was so cold it shocked me. "Don't worry, Laurel will come home." He turned around and kissed Mom on the head, gave her one last hug. Then he came to me with a forced smile, and walked us to the Peacekeepers.

When I looked back, Dad stood with one arm over Mom. Regretful expectations were written all over his face as he watched us walk away.

Now, as I sit by myself, watching the rain streak the foggy windows, I think about Rowan's exchange with Dad. He didn't want Rowan to come back. He wanted Rowan to be murdered protecting me. Would he even be happy if Rowan won the Games?

Well, I know that I couldn't live with myself if Rowan threw away his life for me. And suddenly, I'm so mad at my dad for even asking Rowan to die saving me, that I won't let it happen. Rowan is going to win these games. He'll go home and see Dad again. Then he'll have a perfect son and have to remember every day that he wanted him to die.

He can deal with the guilt. Not me.

Besides, Rowan is the one with all the fire. He has enough determination and anger in him to beat the entire capital if he wanted to. I'm just a silly girl who likes to draw. What am I going to do in the arena, draw a deadly picture and hope it frightens away all the competition? No, I am pretty much a walking corpse at this point.

Footsteps thunder down the hall, and then the doors to the compartment are thrown open.

"Well there's the lucky girl!" Titan exclaims, like I'd just won some sort of contest. Oh, wait. I sort of did. "Now that you've got the chance to compete in the games, what are you going to do?"

I shrug, not really sure what I should say. Run? Cry? Get my brother out of this awful mess? But Titan is looking at me excitedly, like a puppy who wants a treat. "Win?"

He punches my shoulder playfully. "That's the spirit! District 4 is going to have another victor this year, there's no doubt about it." He looks around the compartment for a moment and his face falls. It's hard to notice, because his spiky, rose-red hair is so bright against his skin that the eye has a hard time focusing on his face. I wonder briefly if he did this on purpose.

"Where's your brother?" he asks, dismayed that he isn't with me. "We've got to watch the Reapings. Not to mention dinner is just about ready for us." He almost salivates at the thought of food.

I'd always wondered what Titan was like off-stage, when he wasn't performing for any camera and wasn't under expectations. Turns out, he's exactly the same. Maybe he really is just a goofy capital guy whose energy knows no limit. While he's not particularly friendly (we still haven't been properly introduced) he knows how to make someone smile.

"Don't worry, we've tracked our tribute down," says a cheerful voice down the hallway. It's Finnick. He's accompanied by sweet, old Mags and Rowan. Despite being pale and angry, he manages to plaster a friendly smile to his face. The result is somebody who my mom would tell me not to look at if we passed on the street.

Titan doesn't seem to notice. He slaps Rowan on the back so hard that he almost falls on his face. For the first time all day, I have to stifle a laugh. The humor flickers out when I think about where we are and what we have to do.

The diner car nicer than anything I've seen; the carpet is a plush maroon and the walls are shiny oak. On the satin table cloth rests plates upon plates of food: salmon in some shiny glaze, buttered apples, some sort of salad that contains every color of the rainbow, a thick pudding, and a platter of white, fluffy Capital bread. While District 4 doesn't usually starve to death, it's still more food than I've ever seen. There are servants standing quietly in the corners, waiting to bring us even more food. I wonder how anyone could possibly eat so much.

The answer quickly becomes evident. This food is like nothing I've ever tasted. Everything in District 4 tastes like sand, salt, and fish. This food tastes nothing like sand. Within the first bite I realize I'm so hungry that I grab three more plates and eat it all. Across the table, I see Rowan does the same. Together, I'm sure we eat enough food to feed all of District 4.

It's fairly quiet since everyone is stuffing their faces. Titan chatters on about something or other, but I'm not really paying attention. I catch little snippets like 'must stick to the schedule', and something about watching some sort of game called football after the Reapings. Maybe years and years of Reapings have made him forget how upsetting they really are. But his capital persona probably hasn't even noticed that to begin with.

I trick myself into thinking the longer we eat dinner, the longer it will be until we have to watch the Reapings. Unfortunately this doesn't work; as I'm squishing something that looks suspiciously like a snail around my plate (this clearly still constitutes dinner-time) Finnick interrupts and asks if we are ready to watch the Reapings.

I try to tell him no, but the servants come take away our plates and my squishy snail, then Titan clicks a button and a giant TV comes out of a slot in the wood.

"Do we have to watch?" I ask. I'm nervously raking my fingers through my hair.

"They'll be just like every year, Laur." Rowan says.

"But this time you're in them!" Titan says, like it's the best thing in the world. Rowan sends him a look that clearly says 'not helping.' Nobody seems to notice except me; Finnick is checking out his reflection in a shiny spoon and Mags looks like she's asleep.

Finnick looks up and nods. "You'll be famous."

"What if I don't want to be famous?" I ask.

"Who doesn't want to be famous?" Titan replies. He looks like I just told him two plus two equals five or the sun rises in the west. He shakes his head, baffled, and then clicks the TV on.

Lucky for me, we turn it on just in time for the Reapings to start. District 1 has two volunteers this year, and they both look strong and threatening as they stand on the stage. District 2 isn't so eager, but the tributes are equally as scaring. The boy is wiry and muscular, and his cunning demeanor reminds me of a snake. The girl is extremely pretty, with white-blond hair and a deep tan. She tries to be frightening but just looks pissed off.

These would by my allies. Fearless, tough, and intimidating. I am none of the above. Will they even accept me into the alliance, or just do away with me immediately? I'm going to have to find a way in. And if I can't, Rowan will protect me. Then I can protect him.

District 3's tributes look frail and scared. But I know from past experience you can't count out District 3 no matter how tiny their tributes are; District 3 kids are smart. If they outsmart you, they will kill you.

Then it shows District 4. I look weak as people push me onto the stage. My white skin and dark hair contrast harshly, making me look paler then I was, which was hard to do. I spot the locket glinting in the sun, and find it is still sitting around my neck.

Titan dances around stage brightly until he draws out Rowan's name. He is just as pale as I am, and we truly look like twins. The difference is his face, ready to kill. He will fit into the alliance like a glove. The commentator mentions how exciting it is to have siblings in the Games this year, and interesting to see how our bond progresses as we enter the arena.

I am interested as well. I try to read Rowan's face, but he just turns away from me. Again I am locked out.

The rest of the Reapings go by slow and painfully. Each name drawn from the clear, paper-filled balls signified another family broken up, another child who will never make it to adulthood. And in every district, there was some kind of celebration for us. We are the chosen ones, the ones who get to die young. Great.

The tributes from District 5 looked about a year older than me. They stood strong together, and I could tell that they were formulating a plan right on the stage. A boy from District 7 even managed a smile onstage. Not a bloodthirsty grin, but a quiet smile of someone who thought everything could turn out okay. Like being in the Games was no big deal. The pair from District 8 glared at their escort the whole time. District 12 just looked poor, sick, and starved.

After the anthem is played and the seal is displayed, the television shuts off. It's quiet for a moment as we contemplate our competition.

"It looks like a good group this year," Mags comments. "You have a good chance." Her voice is calm and soothing, and even though she's commenting on how weak and young the other tributes are, it makes it seem like killing them is a good thing.

"You're lucky you're going to have Districts 1 and 2 as your allies," Finnick says. "District 1 looks like they'll be even more vicious than 2 this year!"

"I'm going to get some air," Rowan mutters as he pushed away from the table and exits the room.

"Don't you want desert?" Titan calls after him. Rowan pretends he doesn't hear him as he disappears into his compartment. "He's going to miss out on all the festivities if he keeps being sour like that."

Finnick shakes his head. He looks like he wants to say something to Titan, but keeps his mouth shut. He must have a hard time, going through this every year.

"I'm going to talk to him," I announce.

I knock on his door timidly, not sure whether I should be there or not. I feel like I need to talk to him though. I need to make sure he's alright. Under normal circumstances he's had a hard time with the Reaping ever since Kate, but our circumstances are far from normal.

He cracks the door open, so his face sticks out. His eyes are not the normal post-Reaping red. They are dead, and that scares me all the more. "I came to check on you," I say. "We need to talk about this."

"About us being reaped together?" he smirks.

The memory of him on the beach again comes back to me. "You said the capital couldn't separate us. You're always right."

Rowan chuckles half-heartedly. He opens the door to let me in. I almost knock him over with my hug.

"I'm so sorry," I say into his shoulder.

"For what?"

I'm sorry that we were reaped together. I'm sorry he was reaped as an eighteen year old, as he was almost in the clear. I'm sorry that Dad told him to sacrifice himself for me. I'm sorry that he has to relive Kate's horrid death. But mostly I'm sorry he has to make a decision of who survives: him or me.

But I can't possibly tell Rowan that. So I just say, "Everything." When I pull away I have tears in my eyes.

"I'm going to get you out of this," Rowan says.

"Get me out of this? You mean make sure I get home." I push away from him and stare him in the eyes. "You're not even going to try to win, are you?"

"I can't go home. I can't face everyone back there." He pauses. "You're my little sister; it's my duty to protect you."

"Not to the death!" I almost yell. "Protecting your sister means making sure she's not getting bullied or getting in trouble with the Peacekeepers. It doesn't mean get speared for her!" I'm definitely yelling now. He's just standing there, showing no emotion, which means I haven't gotten through to him. I push him away from me so hard he slams into the wall with a satisfying thump. "I don't need you to protect me."

"You don't understand. I can't come home," He's shouting now to as he struggles to slide back up the wall. "There's nothing for me back there. Mom's already given up on me and Dad…" He chokes on the sentence, unable to finish. "It's much better that you win than me."

"This is about Kate, isn't it?" I hate to bring her up, but my anger is a raging fire. "You're just upset that she lost. You've never gotten over her. What, you think if you die you'd somehow bring her back? Well forget her, Rowan. KATE. IS. DEAD."

I can't stand anymore. All of the emotions of this terrible, terrible day have gotten to me. I sink to the ground and let my body be racked with sobs. This time, Rowan doesn't comfort me. He's standing above me, frozen with anger and regret and I don't know what. I have crossed a line in our siblinghood. He clenches his teeth and exits the room, slamming the door behind him.

"I don't need you, Rowan!" I manage to shout. Then, I am completely lost to my emotions.

I cry for what seems like hours, but in reality is probably less. When the tears run out I just sit there, wondering how things became so messed up so quickly. Rowan doesn't come back. He probably doesn't want to see me again, especially after I yelled at him.

After a while, I hear footsteps again. These aren't Rowan's heavy tread. The footprints are light and soft. When the door creaks open, Mags is standing in the doorway. She doesn't say anything, just looks at me sadly. I guess they heard the argument.

When I don't get up, she kneels to the floor, creaky knees and all. Her arms are around me and she strokes my hair, just like my mom used to do when I was upset. Yet she doesn't say a word. Mags seems to understand my plight without words ever being exchanged. She knows all the solace I need is her withered hangs stroking my hair. Is this what having a grandmother is like? Mine died before I was even born. But I like Mags, my temporary grandmother.

I decide to ask her for one thing. My last wish. "Please keep Rowan out of trouble. Keep him safe." She doesn't answer, just rocks me back and forth. Somehow I know that she has taken my request to heart.


	3. The Capital

**Sorry it's taken so long to update, Midterms have been absolutely crazy! I tried to make this chapter more fun, since the last one was really angsty. **

**Disclaimer: the Hunger Games universe is owned by Suzanne Collins!**

The Capital is more beautiful than I had ever imagined. It's like nothing we have in District 4. District 4 is full of fish, boats, and sea. The Capital is filled to the brim with hundred-story buildings and a menagerie of automobiles zooming down the streets. Miniature gardens that line the sidewalks are filled with so many flowers I can't name them all. The sun casts rainbows on a million glass windows throughout the city. The sky is a brilliant blue that can only be seen on the finest summer morning.

But by far the most interesting thing here, more interesting even than the unique smells and tinkling sounds, are the people. As soon as Mags, Finnick, Titan, Rowan, and I disembarked from the train, a crowd of faces and flashing bulbs descended upon us. People fighting to get my picture was already a strange experience, but when I looked at the photographers everything got weirder. Their skin was a rainbow: Green, pink, red, violet, zebra stripes and polka-dotted—and these were only a few of the sights.

I briefly wondered how Capital citizens didn't drop and have seizures every few minutes from sensory overload. Then I lingered on how lucky they were to live in such a colorful world. I'm almost certain of one thing: the Capital is an entirely different planet.

We get off the train and go to our hotel. It's a huge tower that looks like it's made of glass. When I tilt my head back so I can glimpse the top, I get so dizzy I almost fall over. How many floors are there? At least a hundred. Is everyone housed there part of the Games? I can't imagine so many people working together to formulate my death. But it must be true, because in the middle of the lobby is a huge banner in huge letters that announces the games. In smaller script underneath, a tagline reads: "Just when you think you've seen it all…" Balloons decorate the lobby like everyone is having a party, which I'm sure the Capital citizens are.

It makes me feel a little sick. I almost reach for Rowan, but he's standing all the way on the other side of Finnick, pretending I don't exist. That's okay with me. Maybe this will make it easier for him when I am gone.

"It looks like the party has started without me!" Titan exclaims. He rushes off to a group of multi-colored people in the middle of the room, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

Luckily, Finnick knows what he's doing. He leads us to the elevator at the corner of the room. He slides a strange key-card into a slot by the buttons, which made the elevator door slide open. "Hunger Games politics aren't really my thing," he says, motioning us inside. "Let's get settled, shall we?"

The elevator catapults us up through the building so fast my stomach gets caught in my throat. I latch on to Mags, hoping I wouldn't fall over, but she was looks just as pale as me. The elevator comes to a stop with a jolt, and the butterflies I thought I had before multiply.

Finnick just chuckles. "I love taking new tributes in the elevator. Gets them every time." That makes me think about all the tributes who had walked through the doors of this hotel, sentenced to death. But Rowan just laughs. He laughs so hard he doubles over, and then tears started squeezing out of his eyes. Before I know it, I forget I'm supposed to be mad at Rowan and join in. Laughing never felt so good.

"Can we do that again?" I ask Finnick. He looks very pleased with himself, and pushes the button to the bottom floor. The elevator seems like it's in a freefall, but rapidly slows as we near the bottom of the shaft.

"Finnick, why aren't the doors opening?" Rowan asks when the elevators come to a stop.

"You can only open them with this key," he says, holding up the plastic card. "It's –uh—for your safety." I feel like he wanted to say _it's so you don't escape into the night, leaving the capital with no tributes. _But that would just put everybody into a slump, and that's the last thing Finnick ever wants.

The second round of elevator riding leaves us dizzy, pale, and laughing uncontrollably. Mags stumbles out of the elevator like she'd been trapped in it for years. We have a good laugh about this, but we stop when we enter our room.

This hotel is the nicest place I have ever been. The room is even more luxurious with the train, with which I had been so infatuated. The carpet is so soft I sink in with every step, and the walls are filled with colorful artwork: pictures of people, landscapes, like a beach similar to district four, and huge mountains like the ones that surrounded the capital. There are also funny pictures, ones that I could recreate in two seconds. Their canvases are filled with splotches of paint or a couple of multi-colored lines. It's strange what people consider art here.

The outside walls are actually just giant windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling. Outside there are ant-sized, crazy-looking people walking around the sidewalks and cars zooming around the street. My hand is itching for a pencil to document this strange city.

Mags leads me to my room, and Finnick takes Rowan away. They are on opposite sides of the suite, so I don't have to think about dealing with Rowan every morning during the opening ceremonies. I can hear Finnick talking about Capital women as they walk away. Mags just stays silent.

"Are you excited for the Games to start?" I ask her weakly. I feel it's a stupid question, but her silence is getting to me. She hasn't said anything to me since I broke down on the train, but when I think about it, she hasn't said much before my meltdown either.

"The games are never-ending," Mags states. I don't know quite what she means, but she glances towards the other side of the apartment, where Rowan and Finnick are unpacking. After a pause she says "I'll help you. I'll convince Finnick to pick Rowan."

I smile, even though Mags has decided to kill me.

"Not great, not great. We _might_ be able to get her presentable before the games," Cassius mutters. This infuriating man with a strange name is supposed to be my stylist. So far, all I've done is stand completely naked while he circles me like a hawk, sniffing out every imperfection of my body. His assistants, a tiny woman with tie-dyed skin and yellow clothes, and another lady with short yellow hair watch on eagerly.

He now stands in front of me in a pair of jeans paired with a button up shirt and some dress shoes. His hand is absentmindedly tracing around his blue goatee, and his messy, blue hair sticks out in all directions. "Yes, this is totally manageable. I want you girls to get her to beauty-base zero. I'll come back for her hair." Then he leaves the room like I'm not even there, despite the fact he's been staring at me naked for upwards of thirty minutes. So charming.

The assistants pounce on me, examining my skin, hair, and nails. "We're going to have to do all the scrubs," says the rainbow one. "And she's in need of a serious manicure." I glance at my nails. They're bitten and wore down from the previous day and a half, not to mention damaged from a lifetime of hard work and nutrient deficiency. But I think they've survived pretty nicely.

"We're going to have to deep-condition her hair before Cassius touches it," the yellow haired one says.

"What is he going to do to my hair?" I ask, grasping my waist-long tendrils. They both look startled, like they're noticing for the first time I'm a live person and not a fashion-mannequin.

"Oh—um, I'm sure whatever Cassius plans to do with it will be absolutely fabulous!" The rainbow one says.

"No doubt. Cassius is a genious." Says the yellow haired one. "My name is Penelope."

"And I'm Daze!" Daze twitters.

"I'm Laurel," I say shyly.

Daze suddenly grabs me and hugs me tightly. I pack her back, unsure what to do. "We're going to make you so beautiful!" She squeals when she finally pulls away.

"The games won't know what hit them," Penelope agrees.

Ten minutes later I'm feeling far from beautiful. The pristine tub is filled with some sort of vomit-green sludge, and I'm soaking in the middle of it. How this concoction will make me gorgeous is a mystery to me. Daze and Penelope are sitting in chairs right next to the tub, so I'm a good sport about the sludge-bath.

"You're so lucky! You have Titan as an escort and Finnick as a mentor," Daze says.

"What I wouldn't give to go on a date with Finnick Odaire," Penelope sighs.

"Penelope, you're married!" Daze giggles.

"Any wife deserves a little Finnick on the side," she says. To my surprise, I start laughing. Everybody in District 4 knows Finnick is handsome. There's a rumor that he's well wanted in the Capital, but I didn't realize how badly. I guess now he's such a household name that he's a reward for being married.

"I'll let him know," I joke, knowing that Finnick would never take her up anyway. He's got a beautiful girl named Annie waiting for him at home. Penelope blushes and looks pleased, and this makes Daze giggle again.

"Titan is good enough for me. Could you set us up as well?" She smiles at me sweetly. I laugh and nod. "You're much nicer than the other girl's we've worked for. Do you have a boyfriend? Everyone knows District 4 knows how to make the men beautiful!"

"Um… No." I say. I don't want to tell her that I never really wanted a boyfriend. I'm scared to go through the same thing Rowan and Kate went through. I've never even kissed a boy before.

"Oh, but you're so beautiful," Daze twitters, "You're definitely going to be the bell of the ball at the parade!"

"And if you get Finnick to call me, we'll make you the bell of the entire Capital," Penelope says.

"Penelope, you're _married!" _Daze sighs.

Apparently I've soaked in the sludge long enough, because they tell me to get out of the bathtub and rinse of in the shower at the other end of the bathroom. They then proceed to scrub me down so hard I'm almost convinced I have no skin left by the time their done. They rub several different kinds of lotion on me, of which one burns like acid, and another smells like vanilla and lavender. They wash my hair with several kinds of shampoos, and leave a slimy conditioner in it for what seems like ages. When they finally rinse the slime out, they blow dry it, which takes another twenty minutes, and straighten it. After they get done soaking, filing, and shining my nails, I feel I have just run a beauty marathon.

But when Daze drags me to the mirror to see their masterpiece, I am awed. Surely, this could not be me. It's not possible that this beautiful, radiant, healthy girl could be me. This girl has skin glowing so bright it looks like she's never worked a day and never seen misery. Her chestnut hair is so long and shiny she looks like a princess. Her nails are soft and filed, her eyes bright blue eyes are big and unobstructed. She looks pale and innocent, not like she's from the districts. She looks like a capital girl. She looks like she could be President Snow's granddaughter.

She mirrors my movements, and I'm almost surprised to feel nothing but a glass mirror when I touch her fingertips. My hands go to my hair. It's softer than silk. My skin feels smooth and unflawed. Somehow, Daze and Penelope have turned me into a goddess.

I turn and hug them tightly. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou," I cry into their shoulders. It's every fourteen-year-old's dream to look like a princess, and right now I feel like the luckiest girl in the world, even if in the unluckiest circumstances.

"Don't flatter yourself hun, you're a long way from perfect," Cassius says pretentiously from the doorway. Daze tears herself away from me and contains her fluttering personality.

"We've got her prepped, Cassius," Penelope says.

"Thanks girls, I'll take over from here," Cassius says, pushing me back towards the chair in the middle of the room. He plops me down and starts taking a set of sharp scissors from his black leather bag. Daze and Penelope sneak out of the room.

"What are you going to do?" I ask him hesitantly.

"It's time for a haircut."

I grasp my hair and edge away from him, as if I could get far enough away, I could evade his gleaming scissors. "You can't cut my hair!" I shout. My hair is an important part of who I am. It's always been there. I've had long hair for as far back as I can remember. My dad had always told me how pretty it was. Kate played with it for hours the one time I broke my leg and couldn't do anything for a month, while Rowan laughed at all the crazy styles Kate's nimble fingers created. My mom brushed it for me until it was silky smooth before every Reaping I've ever been to. I can almost still feel her soft fingers and smell the vanilla oil she massaged into my chestnut strands. And this _guy_ wanted to cut it all off? Unbelievable.

"Yes I can, and I will." Cassius takes the sharpest pair of scissors from the bag and brings it towards my hair. I squeeze myself further into the chair, trying to stop the inevitable. "Stop wiggling, or I'm going to shave it all off and you won't have any hair at all!"

I stop wiggling immediately, because I can see the shiny razor sitting threateningly next to the scissors, and his voice is deadly serious. He grabs a length of hair that falls right below my chin, and cuts. The strands flutter to the ground in what seems like slow-motion.

"Why do you have to cut my hair?" I ask. I'm trying so hard not to cry that the voice gets stuck in my thought and it comes out in more of a whisper.

"It's a safety hazard," Cassius says straight-forwardly.

"It's just hair!"

"I can count a dozen ways hair can get you killed. It catches on fire and burns you. It gets caught in a trap and brings your scalp along with it. Somebody grabs it has your running away and decapitates you. Shall I keep going?"

I don't say anything. I'm too busy thinking about my hair being on fire and my head getting cut off.

"Or I could just leave it. You probably won't win the Games anyway. You're just a small, pathetic thing. Can you even fight? Is someone as tiny as you really capable of killing?"

I still remain silent. I've only uttered a handful of sentences to him and he's already got all my downfalls pinpointed. I rapidly blink back tears, begging myself not to cry in front of this ruthless stylist. Why can't Daze and Penelope be here instead? They distracted me from the future, not shoved it in my face.

"That's what I thought," Cassius says, and continues chopping my hair to pieces. He sighed, "Stop crying, I'm only being realistic."

"I can fight," I say. "I-I've practiced with spears. I can use a trident."

"You can, but will you? When it comes down to it, you've got to be prepared to kill every person in the games. Even your district partner." He's still chopping my hair, and huge pieces of it are falling to the ground. Pieces of my identity are just falling away.

"I only have to last long enough to protect Rowan," I say. "I don't need to win. I just have to last for a while."

"So you're one of _those_ tributes," Cassius muses, "I've seen them every once in a while. Just selfless enough to get themselves killed."

Selfless enough to get themselves killed. He makes being selfless sound like an act of stupidity. I wonder if he has anyone he cares enough about to die for. Maybe he sees so many people he knows over the years through the Games he's become numb to it all. I know I can't be his perfect tribute; I'm not prepared to kill half of the tributes this year. In fact, the only ones I would even think about killing are supposed to be my allies. I can't kill that smiling boy from District 7 or the starving kids from District 12. And I know I can't kill Rowan. Not after everything we've been through: the good times, the bad times, the times we've comforted each other, the times we've fought.

I know I have to apologize to Rowan, to make peace before the games. Even if he won't accept it, I have to make amends. I don't need his forgiveness, just his recognition that I'm still his little sister, and I still look up to him more than anyone in the world.

"Twenty-three of us are going to die anyway," I tell Cassius, "Why shouldn't I have a purpose to die? I'd rather die as a protector than a flat-out loser."

"There are only winners and losers in the games," Cassius says. We sit in silence for a few more minutes while he finishes cutting my hair. He hands me a mirror and shows me the new style: a sassy, short A-line bob that falls to just below my chin. The style makes me look spunky, smart, and cunning. This is my new identity.

**I got the idea for the hair-cutting from from Foalywinsforever's "A Guide to Not Making Your Tribute Suck." It's really excellent.**

**Please Read & Review!**


	4. The Parade

**It's been ages since I've updated! My apologies! This chapter is short, but I'm trying to upload shorter, more readable chapters and update more often. Thoughts on this? **

**Thanks for reading, and Merry Christmas Eve!**

**Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins :D**

**0o0o0o**

I never really knew what the Hunger Games meant when I was little. I was too young to understand what was really happening, and District 4 is big enough that it's quite possible you don't actually know the person who is being reaped or their family. I didn't realize the deaths on the screen were real, that they were kids who people cared about. I didn't quite understand why my parents were so somber this time of year, and why Rowan would tell me not to watch. He'd hug me into his chest through all the dicey parts. Rowan was always quite the protector.

I loved to watch the parade. It always fascinated me. There were so many kids of different shapes and sizes, so many glittering fabrics and colors, every district wearing a different costume. Much more color than I ever saw at home. When Kate was drawn, everything began to become real. I suddenly understood that these games were real, and if Kate died she wasn't coming back. The costumes didn't look pretty anymore. They looked ridiculous. I hated every single one.

This year is no different. I'm wearing a ridiculous fish costume. The costume is a jumpsuit made out of metallic silver scales. When the light catches the scales rainbows refract in beams of light around the wearer. The suit molds to my body perfectly. The suit is impressive, beautiful even, but ridiculous just the same. When I walk into the square where all the chariots are waiting, I know all the tributes eyes are on me, and I'm probably blinding them with rainbows.

The car ride over was silent, for the most part. I tried to talk to Rowan, I really did. I might as well have been a ghost for all the response I was getting from him. His eyes were focused on the lights passing out the window, a hard, blank stare on his face. He surrounded himself in stone walls and remained inside his impenetrable fortress.

As he tried to leave the car, I snapped. "Rowan, I am your _sister_," I hissed at him while blocking the car door. "You can hate me all you want, but we still share the same blood. Let me at least apologize."

"What's the point," he said, utterly deflated, as he shoved me out of the way. The metal suit creaked as he exited the car. He stormed towards the crowd of tributes who are trying not to stare.

"The point is that we are in the _Hunger Games._ We don't have that much time left," I tried to be quiet but still come across as frustrated.

"Laurel. Go. Away." He said. And that was the end of it.

Now I'm sitting by the horse that will carry my chariot, waiting for the parade to start. Rowan is talking to the wiry kids from District 2 and the scary ones from District 1. They're laughing about something. I still can't bring myself to face them.

The other tributes are either talking amongst themselves or staring at mine and Rowan's practically glowing suits. I can't decide if this is a good or bad thing.

The boy from District 7 leaves the safe bubble of his chariot and comes towards me. He plants himself next to my side, petting the black horse that will draw my chariot. His district partner is glaring at him, and at me. He looks to be about my age, fourteen, and is dressed in a red plaid shirt and overalls, like a lumberjack. His black hair and brown eyes pop against the shirt.

"Trouble in District 4, eh?" he asks, glancing over at Rowan and the rest of the careers.

"No," I say defensively. I try to think of Cassius. Twenty-three losers, one winner. Show no fear.

"Then why aren't you with them, making friends with your little career allies?" the boy asks.

"Just because I'm allies with them doesn't mean I have to be friends with District 1 and District 2. My brother is over there talking to them."

"He looks none too happy with you. We all saw your little…disagreement." I was hoping they hadn't seen. But maybe fighting will just make me look stronger. Just the same, I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything at all. The silence grows for a moment before he speaks again. "You know, you don't have to be with the Careers. You don't need them."

I just stare at him for a minute to see if he's kidding. His face is serious, bar the slight smile that always plays at his lips. "Surely you don't want me for an ally," I say before I can stop myself, "You don't know anything about me."

"I'd like to," He says coyly. "My name's Jace."

"I'm Laurel," I reply, utterly confused. He reaches out his hand and I shake it. His palms are warm.

"Well Laurel, you're very pretty." He smiles at me before he turns away to stand with his district partner before the parade starts.

I can only think, _what just happened?_

**0o0o0o**

**R&R? Concrit? **


	5. Confessions

When I was around nine years old, Rowan found himself smack dab in the middle of his rebellious stage. It was a common occurrence at my house for Rowan and my father to have screaming matches. They'd scream about his grades in school, his slacking off during training, how he went out with Kate too much, and how he never wanted to help on the boat. Rowan and Dad, being just alike, refused to see the other's point of view, and the house was cold and icy. Mom did her best to stay out of everything, but she became overwhelmed at times.

I decided I wanted to fix it. I drew pictures of Rowan and Dad being friends. The pictures were good, especially to be drawn by a nine year old. Still, they didn't help. I'd carry fake messages back and forth in hopes of tricking them into reconciliation. I told them all I wanted for my birthday was for them to get along. They laughed and pretended for my sake. And I earned the nickname "Keeper of the Peace."

If I was known as the keeper of the peace, Rowan was known as the grudge holder. So, it really shouldn't surprise me that he's kept a cold shoulder. He didn't talk to me all through the parade, except to tell me I shouldn't talk to strange boys from other districts. On the chariot he was a stone statue with a heart of ice. I tried not to take it personally, but every second still stung. And then it crossed my mind that I had been taken Rowan for granted my entire life. The boy standing next to me was not my brother. I didn't know if I'd ever see my brother again.

The tightly packed elevator slowly empties as we drop of the glittering girl tribute from District 1, the wiry boy tribute from 2, and the pair of tributes from 3 who are covered in a Christmas tree of blinking lights. And then it's my turn to go. Rowan has caught a different car back to the training center, so I come back to the apartment alone. The glaring light burns my eyes, the shiny red furniture seems too garish. The spacious rooms and the high ceilings are accomplices to the loneliness that soaks the building.

I miss home. My heart feels like it's still in District 4 and the thin strings that attach my heart to my body are stretching beyond the breaking point. At home right about now I'd be sitting with my family, my father's booming voice bouncing off the walls and my mother soothingly combing through my hair, the locks of which are now sitting in some trash bin mixed with unconsumed food and scraps of unwanted paper.

Right now, I hate this place. The lines and shapes and colors that once jumped out at me like candy are jumbled and confused, and I have to wrench my eyes shut so I don't have to look at it anymore. I take a deep breath and fly to my room, before anyone else has time to arrive and force me to stay here while the walls are closing in on me, swirling and violent like a hurricane.

I lay on my bed, eyes shut, refusing to cry. I think of home: the salty seawater, the cry of the gulls as the fog burns of the sandy beaches in the morning. Dad fishing with his strong hands. And before I know it, I am there, if only in my dreams.

It's still dark when I open my eyes again, but I'm sure I've slept because of the stiffness in my joints and the layer of congealed sweat sticking between my metallic fish scale costume and my skin. I strip the suit off in lieu for a pair of the capital's silky blue pajamas—a pair of short shorts and shirt that slide over my skin.

My stomach grumbles, and judging from the lack of sound coming from the rest of the apartment everyone else is asleep. I venture out of my room like I'm a fugitive. Surely there is no _rule_ against victors leaving their rooms in the middle of the night. It's not like I'm sneaking around the Capital or anything.

I creep into the dark hallway, my toes barely touching the plush carpet.

There's the unmistakable sound of glass clinking against the table. A deep, mournful sigh.

I jump back into the shadows as I see the light from the kitchen. _Laurel, you are not a fugitive_, I tell myself. So I force my shoulders to drop and let my feet grace the floor as I charge headfirst into the kitchen.

Alarm bells go off in my head. The person hunched over the counter is not my brother. He has the same dark hair as me, the same eyes, the same shape of the face. But his eyes are red and reflective, his face pale except for a bloody flush in the cheeks. He's clenched up into himself, as if he was trying to make himself disappear. There's a glass in his hand, half-full of amber liquid that smells like baby vomit. A mostly empty bottle sits next to him. I can smell the sharp vapors coming off of his breath and permeating his skin.

This is not my brother. This is some version of Rowan I almost don't care to know. And then his narrowed eyes turn on me.

"Laurel," he says, "are you mad at me?" He can barely form the words.

"Where did you get that?" I answer.

"What?"

I'm trying to be mad at him, but seeing him in such a sad state pulls the aggression out of me. "The alcohol," I say gently.

"Titan said it would make me forget. Feel better." Titan. I'll wring his neck. What was he thinking, giving a whole bottle of spirits to a tribute the day before training? I'm only fourteen and I still know that's a bad thing. "I'm scared."

"Scared?" I ask. I sit down on the shiny stool next to him, barely tolerating the stench on his breath.

"Scared of dying. Scared of not dying. If I don't die you will. If you die and I don't Dad will kill me anyway. And I would kill myself because I love you and would be sad if you died," He dragged out the last word into nothing, until it had no other meaning then a drunken slur.

"Don't talk about that. You're drunk."

"And I still know the truth. We're going to die."

I consider this for a moment. One winner, twenty-three losers. Yes, we most likely won't come back, just like Kate didn't come back. Just like hundreds of kids hadn't come back. But seventy-one kids _have_ come back, and one of us just could be the seventy-second. "Let's just do our best. Let's make Mom and—Kate proud."

He doesn't say anything, just looks back to the empty glass in his hand. "Laur? You know I don't hate you. I just can't deal with both of us… here…"

I just nod and grab his hand. He squeezes back, just like he used to. For some reason, there's a lump forming in my throat that I just can't swallow, despite the fact that his eyes are like marble. He probably won't even remember any of this in the morning.

I grab one of Titan's pens that has been left carelessly on the counter and a napkin and begin to draw. It's not the best think I've ever drawn; the lines are shaky and the pen tears at the napkin. Before too long, the lines form into a picture of Rowan and I being friends. After all these years, I'm still keeping the peace by drawing pictures.

He sees it and smiles, and then starts laughing like the picture is the funniest thing in the world. Must be the alcohol.

The door opens and shuts when with a bang. It's Finnick. He drags his feet as he walks in and then leans on the kitchen counter, shirt buttons mismatched and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. It takes him a minute to realize we're here.

Then he says, "4:00 AM is a little early to be up and at 'em, don't you think?"

"Couldn't sleep," I mumble.

"Where have you been, mentor almighty?" Rowan slurs.

"Obviously out having less fun than you," He says, frowning at the bottle that still rests on the counter. "You do know you have training in about four hours, right? Where did you even get the booze?"

"It was Titan," I say defensively.

"Of course," Finnick mutters. "Only he wouldn't understand the seriousness of it all." Funny, seriousness and Finnick don't really mix.

"Come on, let's get him to bed," He sighs. We tear Rowan off the counter and guide him to his room. You'd have thought he was on a boat at sea by the way he swayed. We lay him on the bed, and he almost instantly passes out in a puddle of nauseating stench. He looks almost sweet in sleep, certainly a lot younger. His dark hair falls out of place and his cheeks are still rosy, making him look like a seven year old who's been playing tag for hours. It's strange to think that Rowan is still a kid.

"You're not mad?" I ask Finnick after we leave his room.

"Sorry to say, getting mad wouldn't change anything." He pulls the tie from his neck and starts weaving it through his fingers. "The only one who can save Rowan is Rowan."

He doesn't say anything more, just plays with his necktie with a vacant look. Finnick is somewhere far away. As I leave to my room, I turn back in time to see him take a swig from the half full bottle.


End file.
